Stolen Paradise
by ferallahey
Summary: When her fiancee is murdered, Clara follows the measly breadcrumbs all the way back to a place she had left behind- Small Heath.
1. I-Bad Men

_"_ i _am everyone and no one,_  
 _the burden and the burdened."_

 _—_

 _courtney_ marie _, from "Don't Get Your Hopes Up," published in Nat. Brut_

It was nearly Winter when they first met.

Ada had come home one day, Clara's hand in hers, their hushed giggles drawing the attention of Ada's brothers the moment their feet crossed the threshold. Three sets of the same blue eyes had landed on a girl no older than their sister, a girl with wide eyes and a nervous smile.

It was a common occurrence after that for Thomas to catch a glimpse of Clara before he had to head out, her soft strawberry blonde hair a beacon amongst the Shelby clans dark heads of hair. Each time he had shrugged her off, his little sister's friend just that.

She'd come and go, her laughter and smiles something the Shelby family had gotten quite used to. Clara was a thrilling story-teller, her tall tales drawing in even Thomas, soaking up all of his attention the moment her story would begin.

Clara was soon part of the family. When the Shelby's business turned darker and darker, Clara stood under their name and under their protection, every need of her and her families met due to her deep friendship with Ada. Thomas himself had grown quite fond of the girl, her sunny disposition warming him on colder nights.

He hadn't realized how much he appreciated her presence until Clara had been sick with a nasty cold. According to her mother, she was sneezing and coughing up till late into the night, driving Ada mad as the days passed and her best friend still had not gotten better.

Thomas had been given the task of bringing over some bread and lard along with the Shelby families wishes for Clara to get well. He'd thought she'd be resting in her bed and away from sight, but upon coming to her small home, he was curious to see her swinging lightly on the small swing he and Arthur had built some time ago.

Her legs kicked softly through the air with her head bowed, hiding her flushed face and watery eyes. Despite her father's thick grey scarf wrapped neatly around her throat and the pale green jacket she had been gifted by her sister, the day was cold. Clara's small shoulder shook despite her best efforts, the chill sinking into her bones.

"And 'ere I thought you were ill." Thomas stepped up to the fence, curling the hand not carrying the goods around the rough wood.

He watched her startle, their gaze meeting across the fence. The shock of witnessing someone he considered family brought to such sorrow caused him to drop the bread. Thomas cursed under his breath, careful to keep her from hearing, bending at the knees to retrieve his gifts.

Clara shocked him once more by meeting him face to face when he stood, her hand resting where his just was. "I am ill." She whispered. Clara glanced back at her home, as if afraid to be heard.

Thomas looked past Clara and hears the loud shouting of her parents for the first time. It clicks in his mind, her tears and her braving the cold when she should be inside and at rest.

"You don't look it." Thomas' eyes looked nearly grey in the dreary weather, his dark hair making him look even paler against the bleak sky. He looked like a dream to sick little Clara, who still had not stopped shivering.

"Doesn't mean I'm not ill." Clara said, turning from him and making her way back to her swing.

Thomas bit back a sigh, reminding himself that she was his little sister's friend. "Aren't you going to ask me in?"

Clara blinks owlishly at him from where she sat. While she knew it was the polite thing to do, she hadn't needed to be asked into the Shelby home in a long while. Clara remembered the story her father told her, of the pale creatures called vampires who took the blood from your very body.

"Are you a vampire, Thomas?" Clara began to swing once more, a smile pulling at her lips.

Thomas smothered his laughter. He'd sworn to himself he'd be more of man since turning eighteen, that he'd take things in with the careful consideration they deserved. And so he considered Clara and her question.

"Are you?" He asked, pulling open the fence door and stepping through, once again glancing at the house that was filling with 's voice.

Clara's laugh was more of a wheeze in the chill, puffs of breath escaping her and pluming in the air. "Of course not! Vampires never get sick. They are immortal too, you know. Can't die."

Thomas cocked a dark brow, his lips twitching. "Do you wish to be immortal, Clara?"

He closed the door behind him before heading to stand next to the young girl. Thomas rested the bag gently on her lap as she slowed to a stop, watching her tilt her head and think of an answer for him. Thomas has always been one to indulge in her odd questions and her strange thoughts, always finding bits of wisdom in her words despite her age.

She didn't disappoint him. "Only if everyone I love is immortal too. But sadly, no vampire story I have heard has been a happy one."

"Vampires are usually the bad men. Do you think bad men should have happy stories?" Thomas stuffed his hands into his pockets, raising his voice to cover the Lovelace's squabbling.

Clara played with the bit of string that tied the opening to the bundle of food, rubbing it between her fingers. "I think some of them should. Doing bad things does not make us bad people, Thomas. My father says we should all at least get a happy ending, even if the middle is not very happy."

An: Looks like I've fooled myself into starting another fanfic! I had originally wanted this to be a one-shot, but I'm writing too much for it to be one. I'm barely breaching s1ep2...yikes lol

Anyways, let me know what you think! I'm a bit rusty, but it should get better as I go on.


	2. II-Breathless

At the age of sixteen, she and Ada were coming into their own and noticing the world and all that it could give them. Rarely seen apart from each other, those two. The elder Shelby boys regarded Clara as if she'd always been there, her presence a seemingly permeant fixture in their rough world. She was just as much as a Shelby as Ada or Finn, and the boys made sure everyone knew it.

That meant dating Rusty was a rather hard thing to do.

Rusty burrowed his face into Clara's neck, his deep red hair tickling her pale skin with every kiss he left behind. Clara let out a breathless giggle, her back being pushed further into the rough alley wall behind The Garrison. It wasn't the best spot to be seen kissing her boy, as the pub was obviously under Shelby protection. They didn't own it quite yet, but it was practically theirs for how often they came and went.

It was also not the best place to be seen by anyone at all, the mere sight of a couple kissing so openly surely shocking.

If Clara and Rusty were caught, she'd be labeled a whore and he'd be feared by all mother's as a boy who corrupted someone's daughter without even blinking an eye. It sent a thrill through the couple, the idea of being caught. Clara fancied herself as somewhat rebellious, and she'd been tired of hiding her relationship with Rusty in case of repercussions from her pseudo brothers or their men.

Clara breathed out her boyfriends name, eyelids fluttering shut as he licked and nibbled the pale column of her throat. His hand came to rest on her breast above her pale dress, kneading it gently through the thin fabric.

"Fook Clara, you're so beautiful I could kiss you for hours!" Rusty did not bother to keep his voice down, settling for a tone that anyone could hear if they just walked by.

"Shh! What if the Shelby boys hear? Be careful if you don' want to lose an eye!" Clara teased, words laced with her giggles.

"I don' want that, then how would I get to look 'atcha?" Rusty pulled Clara into a messy kiss, pressing himself against her.

"You won' look at her at all if you don' step off of her right fookin' now!" Arthur Shelby's furious voice echoed through the alleyway, shattering the slice of heaven Clara and Rusty had pulled themselves into.

The oldest of the Shelby brothers charged in, face already red with anger. Clara thought fast, grabbing hold of Rusty and pushing him behind her as they shuffled away, her hands coming up in an appeasing gesture.

They hadn't thought it all through, hadn't thought of the consequences Rusty would face if they were caught by the Shelby boys. What was meant to be something thrilling for the young couple was now sending fear right into Rusty's muscles, his hands latching tightly onto Clara's slim shoulders.

"Arthur, Arthur listen-" Clara began, her wide grey eyes filling with fear for her dear Rusty.

"No, you fookin' listen! No damn boy should be pressed up against a Shelby girl like a dog in heat!" Arthur's fists were clenched tightly at his side, his temper ticking loudly like a bomb counting down. Clara caught sight of the tremor that ran through him as he looked for a way around her.

John and Thomas Shelby stood stiffly at Arthur's sides, all three brother's blue eyes burning into Rusty. John was already taking off his hat, swirling the toothpick in his mouth angrily. Thomas only stood and stared Rusty down, brows pinched together and face set in a deep frown.

Rusty glared back, bravado filling him. "I have a right to kiss my girl, you fookin' animals! She's not even a Shelby, you have no claim to her!"

Arthur surged forward, grabbing onto Rusty's hair. Clara screamed as Arthur slammed into her, her arms crossing in front of her to protect her face. Her boyfriend let out a yelp, her and Arthur pulling away from Clara just enough for her to tumble to the ground.

Pale hands helped lift her to her feet, stormy grey eyes clashing with a perfect summer's day as she came to face Thomas. Rusty became quick friends with the ground as Arthur brought his fists to rain down on Rusty's young face.

Clara gave a cry of dismay, pushing Thomas away from her and throwing herself onto Arthur's back. He bucked, trying to throw her off like a mad bull, and out of instinct she tightened her arms around his throat and squeezed. His hands came to try and pry her off, Thomas and John also rushing to her as Arthur's face turned a more purple than red.

"Get off of him Arthur! Get off, get off for God's sake! I love him!" Clara's wild announcement cut through the air.

The bomb that was Arthur went off, his elbow coming back and slamming into Clara's face as he brought an ugly blow down upon Rusty's cheek. Clara let out a pained yelp, finally letting go of Arthur, her small frame being thrown off of the wild man and into Thomas and John.

John's head hit the ground before the rest of him, his stream of curses getting cut off by the impact. He groaned, seeing stars. His toothpick had snapped in half during the panic but he only turned his head to the side to spit it out, too dizzy to sit up all the way. Clara had landed on Thomas' arm, the two of them winded and trying to bring air into their lungs with deep gasps.

Clara's mouth filled with blood as she laid there breathless. Thomas' free hand searched for hers blindly, his own vision spinning. "Clara- Clara-Faye, are you alright?"

Nobody ever used her full name. It was a mouthful to most, and a moment of embarrassment to Clara herself. Her name was a play on 'faery', a playful yet deadly creature her and her father both adored. It sounded odd coming out of Thomas' mouth, his concern clear to her in the soft way he spoke her name.

"I think I'm bleedin'. " She said simply, the shock of being hit so harshly delaying her response. Blood trickled down the corner of her mouth, and she began to panic. "I am bleedin'!"

Arthur stopped his pummeling to look back over at Clara, his face filling with regret at the sight of her on the ground. His distracted state was more than enough for Rusty to bring a solid fist to the side of Arthur's face, knocking him off of the younger boy.

Thomas helped Clara sit up, his hands coming to her cheeks. He gingerly inspected her wound, noticing the split lip marring her mouth and the bruise that was already beginning to form next to it. His jaw ticked with frustration, but he tried to smile for her. Being this close anything he said could send Clara into a fit of tears, as at the age of sixteen all that mattered was her image.

"How bad is it Tommy?" Clara whined, thinking that between the beat down he received and that fact that her face was probably coloring with a big bruise, Rusty would never want to kiss her again.

"You're alright, Clara. It's just a split lip." He took his hands from her face, anger starting to brew. She was Ada's friend, their family, and Arthur's anger had brought her to bleed.

Rusty came rushing to Clara's side, his feet catching a rock midway. He falls into her, once again knocking her down. Thomas' hand shot out, grabbing onto the back of Rusty's shirt using it to bring Rusty off of Clara who only groaned as she righted herself.

"Clara! My beautiful Clara, what has that beast done to ya?!" Rusty cringed, his own face swollen and bloody.

Thomas left go of Rusty as if disgusted, bringing himself to his feet. Rusty was louder than anyone Thomas has ever met. It surprised him that Clara would find herself in love with such a boy, his manners matching her sister Kitty more than they matched her.

"Rusty, forget about me, look at your poor face!" Clara clung to Rusty the moment he helped her up, their words tumbling together as they both spoke.

Thomas pulled out a cigarette, already tired of the scene. He couldn't bare to bring himself to watch the annoying red head and Clara continue to talk, his bewilderment over such a pair clouding his thoughts.

Arthur looked cowed, the expression on his face more of a kicked puppy than a Peaky Blinder. He hadn't meant to hurt Clara. Her beau had just been so damn rude, what with all his talk about Clara not being a Shelby. She was a Shelby in all the ways it mattered. It made his gut twist to think someone he considered a baby sister had been up against a wall, and with such a dramatic boy.

"Just. Get away from us." Clara looked to the Shelby brothers, her eyes landing on Thomas.

He clenched his teeth, the cigarette between his lips burning brightly. "Is that what you want Clara?"

John came to his brother's side, spending a spew of curses her way, daring her to dismiss them again. Thomas put a hand up, eyes still on Clara as he waited for a response.

"Yeah. It's what I want." Clara stared him down, hands gripping tighter on her Rusty's shirt.

Thomas walked off without another word, John following after giving Rusty a rather nasty glare. Arthur eventually pulled himself up, opening his mouth to apologize. A Shelby man through and through, no apology left his lips and he too walked off.

Clara and Rusty stayed in the alleyway, arms wrapped around each other, Clara's face in Rusty's bloodied shirt.

"I wonder what's gotten in them…"


	3. III-Dogs of War

Two years later and Thomas, Arthur, and John headed off to war. Boys of promise turned into men of bloodshed. They became the killing kind, the blood staining their hands staining their souls as well, no matter how many letters Ada and Polly wrote. Their very natures were taken into the hands of war and twisted into something brutal and unsavory, something that became clear as day in the way they wove their words for their family to read.

Ada swears her brothers will come back the same, and Clara wants to believe her. She'd always wanted brothers, and the Shelby boys were as close as she would get. Finn was still so small, so innocent. But the older Shelby boys were becoming men so unrecognizable that even Clara's mother wept for them.

The war put an even larger strain on the Lovelace family, the emptiness of Clara and her sister Kitty's stomachs as obvious as the bareness of their families cupboards. Two months have passed since the Shelby boys had gone off to war, and Thomas no longer brought their family bread.

"I don' want to go!" Clara cried, wringing her hands together. "I want to stay here, in Small Heath! Please, I don' want to leave Ada or my Rusty!"

"You must go!" latched her hands onto Clara's shoulders, shaking her daughter with a desperation that choked Clara's fears.

Kitty had burst into tears the moment their mother had spoken before running off to find her longtime sweetheart James. They'd been together since Clara had turned fourteen, and now four years later they were already speaking of marriage. He'd dodged the draft on account of his terrible asthma, a blessing according to his mother.

It was only Clara who had stayed to beg her mother to reconsider. Her father had left the room as soon as Kitty had started her crying, his soft heartbreaking at his daughter's teary eyes and their hoarse voices. He couldn't bear to face them, not with the shame that he could no longer provide for them burning in his gut.

His cane was the only sound of his escape, the limp in his scarred legs worse with his own guilt.

bit back her own sob, her words catching in her throat. "I don' want you to go either, Clara." She pulled her youngest daughter close, her forehead resting on the crown of Clara's pale head.

"But you must. You must go, you and your sister both. As soon as we can afford, your father and I will retrieve you. Think of this as holiday, yeah?" begged, her thick dark lashes wet with tears.

All the fighting her parents had been doing when they thought Clara or Kitty couldn't hear clicked like her father's hunting rifle in Clara's mind. The aftershock of realizing how much of a burden she was, of how hard her parents were pressed due to her mere existence, chipped away at her resolve.

Clara could never stand to see her mother beg. It broke her already splitting heart, pulling her into agreement. Her mother was her rock, her world, and to see her so defeated, so desperate, set an ache in Clara that she would soon not forget.

Steel leaked into her bones, spilling into her marrow. She'd do what she must if it kept her mother from shedding another tear.

"I'll do it. " Clara whispered, eyes squeezing shut. "I'll go."

* * *

Kitty and Clara were gone within the week. Clara wrote to Ada each Wednesday, her messy scrawl all that she could offer her upset friend. Kitty instead took to pouting, acting as if everything was putting her out.

Clara could only watch with an unflinching gaze as her sister lay in bed forlornly. "Oh Clar, I miss him!"

Kitty rolled over to rest on her back dramatically, dark blue eyes full of tears. "I don' think I can bear it!"

Clara glanced at her lap, sighing at the crumpled letter in her hands. She'd been trying to write to Ada about her stay, wanting to catch her best friend up with where she was staying. She'd been in the middle of explaining how to milk a cow when her sister so interrupted. Taken in by their aunt Beatrice, Kitty and Clara both spent most of their days so far helping around the farm, their soft hands going rough from their hard work. Clara's only reprieve from the tedious but arduous workload was writing to Ada and reading her friend talk about her brother's and their states since having gone off to war.

She'd just been given a pair of simple gloves to help ease the strain on her skin, the smooth and unfamiliar material a muted peach, a gift from her uncle for behaving. Her sister had not been given a gift. Her endless pouting and sobbing over her beloved James doing nothing more than to piss her aunt and uncle off. It irritated Clara to think that her family would rather give her things than actually see to her and her sister's well being.

Clara pursed her lips and tried to smooth out the wrinkles in the paper, the ink smearing on her new gloves. She crinkled her nose before giving a shrug, uncaring that something new had been ruined. They would still work as they were meant to after all.

Kitty's wail grew louder and louder until it ripped Clara's attention to her, just as she had wanted. "I don' think I can bear it!" She repeated, her face red and blotchy from her weeping.

"Then don' bare it!" Clara snapped, pushing a wry strand of strawberry blonde hair from her face.

Kitty startled, sitting upright from her position on the couch. "What's got you in such a mood?" She mumbled, eyes hurt by her sister's attitude.

Clara instantly fell bad. Kitty was suffering from a love that may be lost at any moment, and Clara was the only one here to comfort her. No matter that she was tired of her sister's endless tears, she was still Kitty's blood.

"Sorry Kitty," Clara blinked past her own tears, the blur that was the week sinking into her, "I just miss someone too you know. Ada was my best friend, and now we can't even see each other! And I miss my Rusty, you know how sweet on him I was."

Her sister's look was full of shame. Kitty was always the drama queen of the family, never once throwing a tantrum if she didn't get her way. Kitty was older than Clara, but she was beginning to see that Clara couldn't always act like the older sister. It wasn't fair to her.

"Oh, Clar. Don' cry. Don' cry, I'm 'ere." Kitty moved to make room on the couch for Clara, patting the worn cushion softly. "Come 'ere you silly girl."

Clara wasted no time in propelling herself into her sister's embrace, sobbing into the front of Kitty's dress.

Both sister's held each other for some time, hoping that together they'd find the strength to pull it together and make it through such a lonely time. If they could just pretend that each other was enough, that they didn't yearn for their father's laugh or their mother's gentle hands, then surely they'd come out mostly alright.

"Tell me a story, Clar?" Kitty asked, resting her weary head on her sister's tiny shoulder.

Clara sniffled, thinking. She was silent for a few moments, mulling through her mind what story she could tell her sister that she hadn't already told her.

"I think you'll like this one. It's a poem father read about a witch and a prince. You know how Father loves his magical girls…"

Clara's soft voice grew stronger with every word that slipped out of her mouth. Each image she painted was vivid and restored Kitty's sense of strength, the world her sister was spinning for her clear as day.

"Out of all the beauty his kingdom held, thoughts of the weather witch were what plagued the Prince all throughout the night…"

Both girls laid there, arms wrapped around each other in a gentle embrace as Clara's story took their minds off their troubles. They fell asleep there, minds at peace once more.


	4. IV-Old Haunts

When they meet again it's nearly Spring, year just turning a new leaf and becoming 1919.

Clara's hand clasped tightly onto the locket that rested above her breasts, the simple silver chain illuminated by her pale lilac dress. Her thumb worried at the intricate carving of a faerie, her mind having long drifted off to think of her Liam.

Rusty had been her puppy love, the love that she had thought would last forever. She'd only stayed with him for two years before they broke things off, the long distance between them putting their young affections to a stuttering halt. It had broken younger Clara's heart, having been sure Rusty was the one.

But of course he hadn't been. A first love is only that- your first. There is almost always many more to follow, and Clara was young yet. Rusty was not the last boy she had been smitten with. That had been Liam Walsh, an Irish boy with dark caramel hair and deep expresso eyes that crinkled at the edges when he smiled or laughed. He'd been calmer than Rusty, more mature and easy going.

They'd met through Kitty and Jaime's wedding; Liam being her new brother-in-law's best man. From the age of eighteen Clara had once more found love- or as close to love Clara believed she could get- and this time in the form of a better man who would do anything just for her to smile. For five years did they live happily, the shy promise of ever-after on their lips when he popped the question shortly after her twenty-second birthday. Welcomed into the arms of Liam's loving father and doting older brother, Clara had thought that nothing could ruin the new family she was slowly building.

But her mother died of consumption and her father soon followed after smoking away his mind with opium, that which he had bought with all the money he had left. Then her Liam was murdered on a cold night months before their wedding. Not even his father, a well respected copper in London, had been able to find his murderer.

He'd only been able to find a trail of clues that lead her back to her childhood home of Small Heath. Twenty-four and armed to the teeth with as much police training as a girl could get, Clara was ready to see to the end of whomever had been foolish enough to come after her loved one.

Clara swallowed thickly, thumb pressing so harshly against the faerie engraving that it would surely leave an imprint on her poor skin. She'd only had a year to mourn the death of who she come to think of as her best friend, only a year to mourn what could have been if he had lived. Would she have come to love him? Would they have been happy? Painful thoughts prickled like tears in Clara's eyes, and she blinked away any thoughts of the life she had been promised.

There was only her life now, and her chance to right someone's wrongful death.

The train slowed to a spot, the familiar grey town she had grown up in coming to view. Grey, grey, and more grey was the United Kingdom it seemed. London had been bigger but filled with more people, all whom rushed about the damp streets, too busy to truly live life. Here in Small Heath it wasn't much better, with fornicating couples clear in the roads and desperate men all trying to make a living.

She thanked God that she had had the life she was given, one with an understanding almost-father-in-law whom adored her nearly as much as her own father did. Clara never went hungry upon meeting Liam, and now she would be taken care of as long as she desired by his dear father.

"You're always in such deep thought nowadays, my dear sister." Redmond Walsh's voice was teasing, his coffee colored eyes always seemingly lit with laughter.

Clara gave him a strained smile, internally wincing that he referred to her as his sister. Older than Clara and Liam, Redmond was a proud man with a kind face. He'd been easy to sway in her favor, eager to let her into his home due to her relationship with his baby brother. Redmond's naturally protective nature only increased after Liam's death, and when she secretly decided to follow the breadcrumbs of his murder back to her hometown, Redmond had refused for her to go to such a place by herself.

Even now as he got up to gather their meager belongings, his nose scrunched at the sight before him. "Not a very wholesome place, now it is?"

"It may not be wholesome, but it is my home. If it bothers you so, you can always go back to London." Clara hadn't meant to snap but she couldn't help but defend the place she hailed from.

It was grey and dirty and full of sinners, but it was hers.

"Clara, you best be careful with a mouth like that in a place like this." His words weren't teasing any longer. His eyes flickered between Clara and the streets around them, a sullen twist to his mouth. As if he'd given up, Redmond only sighed and got off the train, shuffling their belongings to help Clara down.

Clara rolled her eyes the moment he turned his back, determined to not let his sour demeanor get to her. She was not thirteen anymore, she didn't need somebody to swoop in and save her every time she turned around.

Both moved silently amongst the muck. Redmond kept an eye out for their small apartment, whispering to himself as he tried to navigate the busy streets. Clara let him go about it his own way, trying to reabsorb everything she'd missed over these years. With her head stuff in the clouds, she nearly was trampled under foot by a great white horse, having bumped into it and setting it off into a frightened buck.

The horse's hooves were over Clara's head, a wild look in it's dark brown eyes as it brought them done. Clara rolled, her lilac dress becoming covered in mud in an attempt to save her own life. Her hands came out, palms facing the wild beast of a horse, a soft hum making it's way up her throat.

"It's alright love, you're alright…" Her voice was shaky but her hands remained steady.

The horse's rider leant down to talk softly into it's ears, a pale hand brushing lightly against the side of it's neck. He spoke so lowly that Clara couldn't hear, the words nothing more than a whisper on the wind. A glint at the peak of his flat cap startled Clara into silence. She knew only of one set of men who would sew razors into their caps- but just which boy was before her?

Both rider and horse stood above Clara, the man's face shadowed beneath his hat. He was dressed smartly in a smokey grey suit, the fine tailoring of it reflecting his lean frame. It dazed Clara to see such a dark figure, the sun shining behind him and making him all the darker. His voice reminded Clara of a snake her father had spoken of long ago, his words smooth and coiling tightly around her, making so she could scarcely breathe.

Unbidden, Clara's mind conjured up a line to match the image in front of her, a line that sent chills down her spine. 'And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.'

"You alright Miss?" As he spoke he came into view, his startling glacier eyes gazing at her unmoved.

His eyes were as blue as any Shelby, but the dead look in them made them unfamiliar. It felt like looking at an old photograph of somebody you once knew but could no longer name. Clara searched for any hint of recognition, of any sign that he was one of the boys that she used to know.

Nothing came.

"I'm alright…" She let herself look past the icy gaze and smiled at the razor sharp cheekbones jutting proudly from his face above a plush mouth quirked into a slight frown. She could not see his dark hair, but she knew it was there under his cap. His smattering of freckles was darker than she remembered, she thought idly. "I'm alright,Thomas."

A flare of recognition in his eyes caused her to smile wider. "Is that you, Clara-Faye?"

Thomas scanned the pretty young woman in front of him. Her wild strawberry-blonde hair was fashioned into a bob, no longer unbound and flowing freely against her back. But the same wide grey eyes set in a beautiful face met his gaze head-on, the look in them sharper than he could recall.

"It's me, Thomas." Clara gave a mock curtsey, the sight something funny as she was still covered in mud.

The corner of his mouth curled, a question dying on his lips as a man older than him came to Clara's aid. The two looked like a picture from a fairytale, with their pale hair and gentle features. The blonde man gave Thomas a scowl before trying to dust off Clara's skirt. Clara slapped his hands away, scrunching her face at him and stepping out of his reach, nearly tripping on her own set of bags that Redmond had dropped upon reaching her.

"Redmond, I'm alright. See? No cuts, no bruises. Just a dirty dress."

"He could have killed you, Clara! I didn' think I needed to tell you to not run off with out me, but I see now that I was wrong." Redmond placed his hands on his hips, making the perfect image of a mother scolding their child.

"Thomas wouldn' have killed me, the poor horse was only spooked!" She shot Thomas an easy grin, one that did not go unnoticed by Redmond.

"Thomas? As in your Thomas Shelby?" He sputtered, a blush creeping up his neck. He turned to face Thomas, bitting his lip and giving the softest sigh. "I'm sorry Mr. Shelby, I hadn' realized she knew you. I would have been more polite if I had."

Thomas only looked down at Redmond with cold eyes. Whereas Thomas saw a normal handsome man who fretted over his childhood friend, Redmond saw shattered glass barely forming a humanoid shape. He blinked at Thomas, an uneasy feeling filling him. Something was off with the man in front of him. The image of who Thomas was as described by Clara collided with the image of who Thomas is now, leaving a very cautious and confused Redmond.

He looked to his companion to see if she saw it. Her attention was on the horse, not paying him any mind. Thomas of course caught and calculated every reaction Redmond had, the unfamiliar face now pointed at Clara.

"Does she have a name?" Clara asked, her hand lifting slowly to land on the tip of the horse's soft nose. Both she and the horse were locked in a look of understanding, two nervous creatures trying to figure out what came next.

"All living things should have a name you know. Redmond, remember that horse racer- I believe his name was? The one with the mustache as sparse as the hair on his head?" Sharing a sad smile with the white beauty in front of her, Clara hardly spared the men a glance.

"Clara, I don't think it's best to speak about cases so openly, even if they are old." Redmond shot Thomas a glance.

Thomas could not say his interest was not piqued at the thought of Clara spilling police secrets.

"A case, ay?" He finally slipped off of his mount, landing nearly soundless.

"Everything looked fine with the mare, in fact, she was going to go into the races the next day and win them all a big sum. It wasn't until later that night her symptoms started to show." She peered closer, eyes unblinking as she pressed closer to the mare. Her sad smile only grew. A single warning bell went off in Thomas' head, her smile one he remembered only shared when she gave terrible news.

"Is there somethin' wrong with 'er?" Thomas grew still. The thought of the Lees betraying him so brutally setting his blood to a low boil. He'd never been one for dying horses, he could never get used to seeing them go. And by the looks of Clara's smile, this horse would go badly.

"She's sick, Thomas. She'll have until tomorrow morning, if not a brutal death right during the race itself. You'll want to see about getting her somewhere comfortable until she goes." Clara finally looked to him, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

Thomas had half a mind to not believe her, but the Clara he knew wouldn't lie over something so dear to him. Thomas was a smart man. He couldn't believe her fully, not with such a strange story. But he couldn't afford to not believe her. So he settled on checking on her later, hoping that Curly would prove Clara wrong.

Clara stepped closer into Thomas' orbit, her presence something akin to a breezy summer day. She'd always been of note, her light hair and dimpled smile calling attention to her the moment she stepped into a room. It dazed Thomas a moment to feel it so heavily, her affect having only grown as she had it seemed.

The sharp glint to her eyes was back, even as she smiled. It made him wonder what she had seen, what she had done, to get her eyes to look so hard.

Two pairs of glinting eyes, one the color of gunmetal and the other a frigid winter sky, pinned each other like a butterfly under a glass. Shadows leapt at Clara from where she peered into Thomas' self, shadows that flickered and swayed beyond her understanding. It nearly hurt to look at him, as he was only a shell of the Thomas she remembered.

Where Thomas looked, he only saw jagged cliffs, a void that pulled him in close. Intrusive thoughts of tipping over the edge called to him, asking him to leap. A shock ran through them both as they stood face to face, Thomas standing well above her though he himself was on the shorter side.

"I'll be sure to see you and the boys later. But we best be off for now. " Clara reached out and gave his arm a tender squeeze, the feeling of her touch lingering long after she and Redmond had picked up their things and left.

Whispers followed Thomas, speculations of who the woman in the dirty lilac dress nearly all he heard as he and the mare walked on. Thomas too asked himself who she was, as though she had a familiar face, she had the eyes of someone he'd never seen before.

He wondered how far he could peer over the ledge before the call to the void brought him down.

An: Finally, she remeets Thomas! What do you think of their encounter? And of her reasons of returning?


End file.
